


A Tiny Grey Lie

by LokianaWinchester



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Oblivious Napoleon, Pining, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 06:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14929016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokianaWinchester/pseuds/LokianaWinchester
Summary: Written for the prompt: "This is possibly the worst way for you to have found out and I’m never going to live this down."





	A Tiny Grey Lie

Napoleon could not remember exactly when he fell in love with Illya but he had been suffering ever since. They were partners, spies working dangerous missions, important missions and feelings should not be involved in their work life.

Napoleon had never had a problem with that before. To be quite honest he had never been big on feelings all in all, so the job was pretty much perfect for him in that regard. There was a lot of travelling, if he slept with the wrong people for some reason, he would simply never return there. It was simple. It was easy. But then Illya came along and Napoleon was completely out of his comfort zone.

At first it was infinite fascination. The other man was large, muscly, he was strong, he was a machine. The first impression most people had of him was probably never a nice one, but the second impression was what got Napoleon.

Napoleon was a man of first impressions all around. He dressed well; people who met him should have a very clear image of what he was like just by looking at him. He spoke eloquently, did not hold back his wit. He was outspoken about his opinions. Of course there were hidden sides to him. Many people did not expect him to be multilingual or to be into men as well; it was not something people realised when they first laid their eyes on him and most did not bother to look beyond that with people like him.

But Illya was all about second impressions. Illya was two things; firstly, he was a name. The name of the body people saw. Napoleon immediately saw that it was a façade, he immediately recognized his entire being as defence mechanisms. And secondly Illya was the soul of the man he was, Illya was locked behind layers and layers of protection he had built around himself, but he had a core and that was what people gave up looking for when they only found façade after façade.

It was not in Napoleon’s nature to stop looking; after all he was a spy. Looking was his job, digging was also his job if he saw nothing. And so he dug. He thought he would find something to use against Illya, deep down there. He thought he would find dark secrets, something that would explain all this protection and all the snarky behaviour. They were play-fighting. They were always at each other’s heels, they were always going on about something, trying to best each other.

Nobody was perfect and they were made painfully aware of that every day. And every day Napoleon felt himself dig deeper as he got to know Illya, Peril, better. Every day he expected to find out what it was, the secret he was sure was hidden in there somewhere.

He did not.

Instead he found Illya. Napoleon was ashamed to call himself a spy after he thought about how long it had taken him to realise that he no longer needed to dig. There was nothing to be found, because the only thing Illya was hiding behind these walls and fortified defences was himself.

They were friends. By digging this deep, Napoleon had gained an understanding of Illya that ultimately led to their friendship. Being Illya’s friend was great because Napoleon did not need to dig any further. Instead Illya opened up to him voluntarily.

After all that time it felt like an honour. And it was. It was an honour to have Illya trust him with protecting his back on missions and he felt just as honoured when he noticed a gradually decreasing number of bugs in his hotel room. It meant not only that he had gotten through to the real Illya, but that Illya had gotten through to the real Napoleon and that he knew it. It both pleased and scared him. But he trusted Illya and their working partnership became even more successful.

Occasionally they were assigned a mission with Gaby. Napoleon knew her from before Illya had stepped into his life. They had worked a couple of missions together and got drunk together occasionally, if either of them needed it. Apparently Gaby also knew Illya because the first time the three of them worked a mission together, the two of them were already familiar.

The first time Napoleon had rung her up to get drunk together was when he returned from a mission that he only barely escaped from alive. She did after a nasty break-up.

The most recent time Napoleon rang her up was the night the words ‘I love you’ ghosted around in his mind when he looked at Illya.  
Napoleon was absolutely destroyed. This was nothing he was familiar with, hook-ups, yes. Sexual relationships, yes. But love? It was not like him. So his first instinct was to call Gaby and request to meet with her in a pub near his flat.

Of course after a few shots, he could not keep it to himself any longer, especially because Gaby was looking at him with question marks in her eyes.

“I’m in love with Illya.” There would probably have been more elegant ways to put it but at least she knew now.

“No shit,” was her only response.

“No shit.”

“Shit.” Gaby was about as eloquent as Napoleon. And she did not help at all.

“Well, I guess it makes sense,” she finally said.

“How? Gaby, how? It doesn’t make sense? I don’t know love… or like how. It’s bad,” he whined.

“I mean you like puzzles, right? He’s the biggest puzzle I’ve ever seen.” She paused.

“He’s also the biggest man,” a giggle. “His dick is probab-”

The rest of her sentence was muffled by Napoleon’s hand on her mouth.

“Fuck, Gaby I’m not drunk enough for that.”

She had the audacity to giggle again.

It was the first time Napoleon did not feel like their night out had had any positive effects. If anything it made everything worse. For one thing it now felt even more real because he had said it out loud, and for another the question of the size of Illya’s dick kept returning to his mind. It was not a great situation.

From then on he kept more distance between Illya and himself. It was difficult, because he wanted the exact opposite but Illya was probably the last person to return his feelings so it was for the best.

The three of them worked a mission together soon after that and naturally Napoleon kept himself closer to Gaby. Over the course of two weeks something changed.

Illya had started looking at them funnily when they were sitting on the couch together, bickering about anything, but his attitude became more and more hostile towards the end of their mission. He started downright glaring at them and Napoleon was not sure what to make of it until he saw the way Illya acted around Gaby.

He treated her like she was made of porcelain, like she was fragile, with a soft expression. He was jealous of Napoleon!

That was worse than anything that could have happened to Napoleon in his situation. The one person he entrusted with his deepest feelings was now his rival in exactly those feelings. He could not have that.

So he told Illya that there was ‘something going on between Gaby and himself’. Illya backed off. Not only did he limit his contact to Gaby to the minimum, but he also retreated way behind all his walls and defences. Napoleon started feeling guilty when he realised this was not the instinctive reaction to his statement, but rather a choice Illya had made the moment the words left Napoleon’s lips.

But at least Illya was no longer going after Gaby. That would surely have resulted in heartbreak and pain for Napoleon and as much as he liked to claim otherwise, he was a coward. He was ashamed of it, but he would rather lie to his friend than risk heartbreak even though he knew it was inevitable. Sooner or later Illya would find somebody else and leave Napoleon behind, hanging on to his pathetic lie of dating Gaby.

Months passed and Napoleon missed the closeness to Illya he had gotten so used to, but then the three of them worked another mission together and while Illya stayed completely professional, he was even more grumpy and closed off in private.

Napoleon was sitting on the bed of his hotel room, loosening the top button of his shirt when the phone rang. Suspiciously he picked up; who could have the number of his hotel room phone?

“Napoleon?” Gaby could.

“Yes?”

“You absolutely dumb fucking shithead. What were you thinking?” Napoleon raised an eyebrow, then remembered that Gaby could not hear that and spoke up.

“And what do I owe this pleasure to?”

“I was just talking to Illya, you know. As friends do. I mean he’s been very absent lately. And we got talking and I told him I had a date when we’re back home.” Oh shit.

“’Oh shit’ is right.” So he had said that out loud.

“Napoleon why the fuck did you tell Illya that you were dating me?”

“First off I said we had ‘something going on’ –”

“Oh, cut the shit, Solo.”

“He obviously has feelings for you, Gaby. I’m sorry I’m such a coward but I didn’t wanna watch you make out on missions. I couldn’t stand it.”

Gaby let out and angry and annoyed yell.

“I’m calling from Illya’s room.” She said after that in an alarmingly calm voice.

Napoleon saw it coming. They had made up, they would lead a happy life and leave him behind. He felt his heart beginning to crack.

“You know why?” She did not leave him time to respond. “Because I told him everything and wanted to warn you that Illya is on his way to your room right now.”

Napoleon had never taken Illya for the type of guy who would beat him up for something like the little lie he had told but maybe he had been wrong about him completely. Maybe this way the heartbreak would even be less painful.

“Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair. The crack of the line told him Gaby had ended the call and sure enough barely a second later a knock came at his door.

With weak legs he made his way over there and opened the door, finding Illya glaring at him.

“Come in, Peril.” His voice was too high pitched, he sounded pathetic.

Illya followed the invitation.

“You really are worst spy, Cowboy.”

“Can you mayb-”

“Do not interrupt. I speak. You are worst spy and stupid man. Blind like mole. Slow mind. Like snail.” He seemed to run out of insults.

“Can you just get over with it and go back to Gaby?”

“I don’t want to go back to Gaby.” He must have planned bad things for Napoleon if he did not even want to go back to Gaby. Illya was grabbing his shoulder and throwing him against the solid wood of the door, knocking the breath out of Napoleon. This was it.

Napoleon prepared for the punch, but none came. Instead Illya leaned in close.

“You flinch? You still don’t know?”

Napoleon was about to ask him to clarify this once and for all, but then his brain shut down and words left Napoleon’s world as it was reduced to Illya’s lips on his own.

It was not gentle. Napoleon had not really expected that from Illya. It was rough, it was full of repressed emotions and urgency. It was perfect. Illya was pressing him against the door, Napoleon could not even have moved if he wanted to, but he did not want to, he wanted to stay there for the rest of his life. Illya was all over him, one hand buried in his hair, tugging at the longer strands, tilting his head to gain better access and Napoleon was responding eagerly. He did not know how he deserved this, but it was great.

“You stupid Cowboy. You have no brain. Why don’t you see when I am looking at you and not Gaby. She is friend. But you, you are infuriating and annoying and pretty and really stupid and I think I love you.”

Napoleon only stared. His reaction of “Illya thinks I’m pretty” was immediately cut and replaced with “Illya loves me”. It was very like Illya to confess his love two seconds after their first kiss; in fact it was so much like him it was almost ironic that Napoleon had not expected it.

Illya was looking at him with all the emotions he had just expressed. Disbelief at Napoleon's utter stupidity, adoration, fondness. He was showing his true self again and Napoleon once again knew what an honour that was. But Illya's expression shifted; Napoleon realised he was waiting for an answer.

“Shit, uh...” very eloquent. He needed to do better.

“I think... I might feel the same,” he tried, looking up at Illya, who was still holding him firmly pressed against the door.

But then the pressure shifted and Illya took a half step backwards, loosening his grip on Napoleon's hair, instead cupping his face with both of his large hands. Napoleon was not that much smaller than Illya but he felt totally overpowered in that moment, relishing in the soft touch, closing his eyes as Illya leaned in.

Their second kiss was softer, more gentle. It was calm. Illya took his time and Napoleon thought back to when he first met him.

Kissing Illya was remarkably similar to meeting him. The rough first impression, the gentle second one, showing who he really was.

Maybe he was thinking too much, reading too much into Illya, but he forgot thinking completely when Illya moved one hand to his hip, pulling him close, deepening the kiss.

When he got back his thinking capacity all that was on his mind was. _I really do love him._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it :) Feel free to leave kudos/comments! I really appreciate them <3


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